


direct sunlight

by reeology



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adulthood, Alternate Universe, Bad Matchmaking, F/F, Kagehina Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeology/pseuds/reeology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adulthood AU where Kageyama works a boring office job, Hinata is a pro athlete, and Yachi's mom just wants the best for her daughter (even though she has no idea what that actually is). Written for the Kagehina Exchange 2015 for #16.</p><blockquote>
  <p>"So, how do you know Hitoka-chan?" Hinata asks.</p>
  <p>"Oh, uh. I work with her mom. She set us up on a date," Kageyama says.</p>
  <p>"I can see how you'd be a good match, if she wasn't so in love with Kiyoko-chan," Hinata says. "She's small and cute, and you're all tall and cranky-looking, but I bet you've got a soft side."</p>
  <p><i>You're small and cute,</i> Kageyama thinks.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Captain_Hughes_ZU](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Hughes_ZU/gifts).



> For #16, whose request was "None, really~!" so I basically went rogue and wrote my own self-indulgent bullshit. Sorry this is only chapter 1--I'm not finished with the fic, but I wanted to have something to post for the exchange. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Happy holidays!!
> 
> Last-minute beta by [hoodiedork](http://hoodiedork.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much!
> 
> Title is from chapter 74 of the manga, or episode 2 of season 2. (Mostly because I think having Hinata enter your life is like staring into direct sunlight but whatever.)

The office is too hot for early September. Kageyama has his arms folded on his desk, chin digging into his forearms, as he stares into the spinning blades of the small fan currently blowing his hair off his forehead. It feels amazing, but there's still a little patch of sweat growing at the small of his back, and he kind of hates that Japan as a country doesn't believe in air conditioning communal spaces.  
  
He's thinking that maybe he'll buy a popsicle on his way home from work when the door to the chief's office clicks open, and Yachi Madoka walks out in pointed black heels and a flawless pencil skirt and looks straight at him.  
  
He sits up so fast he almost knocks the fan over.  
  
"Kageyama," she barks, her heels click-click-clicking as she walks over to him, faster and more intensely than anyone should be able to move on what Kageyama thinks are essentially really pointy, dangerous stilts. Her perfume precedes her in a subtly floral cloud that he can only smell if he really inhales deeply. Which he does, because he was just totally dicking around, and the thought that he might get fired makes him so anxious that he'll hyperventilate if he doesn't concentrate on his breathing.  
  
"Yes, chief!" Kageyama practically leaps from his chair and stands up straight, his index fingers pressed against the seams of his pants like his posture's being inspected at a military base, not a design firm.  
  
Madoka stops in front of him and flicks her fingers at him, gesturing for him to loosen up. Or at least that's what he thinks that's what she means. He's not sure, so he just sort of twitches his fingers and forces his shoulders down about half an inch.  
  
Madoka smiles, and her lipstick looks even pinker against her white teeth. "I don't believe you and Hitoka-chan have met, have you?"  
  
"Um. No, chief," he says. His heart thumps extra hard as he thinks maybe he's not in trouble after all. "Who is that?"  
  
"My daughter," Madoka says, and steps aside.  
  
A girl stands there, hardly over 150 centimeters and probably weighing only 50 kilos soaking wet on a good day. She's pale, with blond hair drawn into a sideways ponytail that's reminiscent of the luxurious curls that slide sideways down Madoka's shoulders. But unlike Madoka, who is tall and confident and wears her suit and heels like she was born for it, Hitoka is wearing a short skirt and a frumpy sweater, knees bruised and scabby, converse tennis shoes scuffed and well-worn. She's also literally shaking like a leaf, still standing half-hidden behind her mother's shoulders.  
  
"H-hi, my name is Yachi Hitoka. Pleased to meet you," she says, and even her voice is trembling.  
  
He can relate to that.  
  
"Kageyama Tobio," he says, bending in a deep bow. (Maybe too deep, he thinks a half-second later. Maybe he looks like he's making fun of her. Or maybe it's not deep enough, because this is Madoka's only daughter, and Madoka is kind of a big deal around here.) He swallows past his swirling anxieties and manages to force out in a voice that only half-sounds like a robot's, "You as well."  
  
"So polite," Madoka says, sounding amused and a little pleased. "Kageyama, you can stand back up, now."  
  
"Yes, chief." He jerks his head back up and looks at Hitoka again, perhaps too closely. Her ponytail holder has two tiny stars on it and he can't help but find it charming. She looks like the little sister type.  
  
"Hmm." Madoka's lips curl and her eyes light up, her gaze lingering on Kageyama long enough to make him fidget.  
  
"So, um. Chief." He looks back at Madoka and raises his eyebrows. "Did you need anything else?"  
  
Somewhere, he's aware this is rude, but he's so, so shitty at small talk. He's probably supposed to ask Hitoka about her schooling or something--she looks about sixteen, he thinks--but he's never known how to interact with anyone outside a professional setting with any degree of success.  
  
"Remind me how old you are, Kageyama-kun?" she asks sweetly, and the tone of voice and the addition of -kun instantly raises alarm bells in his head.  
  
A shiver travels up his spine as he says, "Twenty-nine."  
  
"Hitoka-chan just turned thirty today," she says.  
  
"What," he says, honestly surprised. He does a double take, head to foot, but still can't see any signs that she's a day out of high school. It's unnatural.  
  
"M-mother!" Hitoka-chan says, looking like she's about to wilt, red-faced and wobbly.  
  
"It's no big deal," he says, interpreting the near-tears look as embarrassment for her age. "My birthday's in December."  
  
Madoka glances very conspicuously at his left hand. That spine-chilling feeling returns, and he tucks his hand in his pocket.  
  
"Remind me, Kageyama-kun, do you have a girlfriend?"  
  
"Mother, please," Hitoka-chan says. She's definitely gonna cry.  
  
"I'm just asking," Madoka says, and Kageyama is trapped, because he sees where this is going, now. He could lie to his boss, who is looking at him with this freaky, preternatural kind of expression, like she can read his mind and will make his life a living hell if he dares deceive her. Or he could tell the half-truth, that no, he doesn't have a girlfriend, and probably get himself set up on a horribly awkward date with her anxiety-ridden daughter.  
  
Not that he's judging her for the anxiety thing. Clearly he has a lot of it himself. It just comes out in terse, monosyllabic responses and resting bitch face rather than trembling and tearing up.  
  
(The third option, to tell the whole-truth--that he is in fact a homosexual and has no interest in females in general, no offense to her daughter--isn't really an option at all, for obvious reasons. He's not out at work and probably never will be. He has no reason to be.)  
  
"No," he says, figuring going on one awkward date to appease his boss and then going their separate ways is probably the easiest option.  
  
The air around Madoka changes, something sharp like the stench of ozone before lightning strikes, and Kageyama immediately regrets his decision. He doesn't hear exactly what she says after that--his blood is rushing in his ears, drowning out every sound--but he knows he just made a huge mistake. He watches Hitoka's mouth move, followed by a bow and a hasty retreat, and then reluctantly looks at Madoka.  
  
She's still smiling, primed like a storm. "Kageyama-kun. What did you think of Hitoka-chan?"  
  
"She's nice," he says. The muscles in his legs are bunching and cording, ready to run. It's a ridiculous place to have such a strong fight or flight reaction, but he can feel the adrenaline pumping. He should have lied. He should have run.  
  
"You know, after age thirty, they say girls are less likely to find a husband." Madoka walks her fingers along the edge of Kageyama's desk like she's not about to proposition him on behalf of her daughter in front of the entire office. "Since you're the same age, what would you think of going out with her sometime?"  
  
"I would have to think about it," he hedges. It's not a refusal, but not an agreement, either. "I wouldn't want it to affect my work."  
  
"Always so serious, Kageyama," she says, and the way she drops the -kun makes it easier for him to breathe. She smiles at him, softer and more sincerely, and pats his shoulder. "Back to work."  
  
"Yes, chief!" he says, and immediately sits back down in his chair, back to his tiny fan blowing his bangs off his forehead and making all the papers flutter like nervous birds. He's dodged a bullet, maybe.  
  
Or maybe he's just dug himself deeper.  
  


* * *

  
  
Kageyama buys a popsicle and walks home from the station to his empty house in the residential district, a narrow building with a rusted bike rack and too many plants overtaking the balcony. He can smell whatever his elderly neighbors are making for dinner, something with leeks and potatoes and a little spice. Probably curry.  
  
He hasn't had curry since the last time he visited his parents. He can't cook, so he eats takeout from the convenience store. Tonight he has some rice balls and a piece of milk bread, because he's cranky and has convinced himself he deserves it.  
  
After he eats, he cracks open a beer and stretches out his knee on the couch. It still bothers him, even now, like old men who can feel a snowstorm brewing in their broken limbs. Except he doesn't feel snowstorms; he feels bitterness, regret that he's still living in Miyagi and working a boring ass desk job.  
  
Then, because he's a masochist, he opens his laptop to check the score of the national men's volleyball game. There's a clip of a perfect set and this impossibly tiny spiker slamming past the opposing team's defense, and that's it, that's all he can take before his heart breaks, and he slams the computer shut. He shoves it under a throw pillow because he's still mentally about five years old sometimes, and then heaves himself off the couch and across the apartment on his aching knee.  
  
_This is fine,_ he thinks, sorting his recycling into the proper bins like a mature, responsible adult. Maybe he's not playing volleyball, and maybe he's not dating, but he is surviving, and that's something.  
  
It's enough for now.  
  


* * *

  
  
The next day, Kageyama arrives at work early, his lunch under his arm, and heads toward the break room.  
  
He is intercepted by click-click-clicks only halfway down the hall, and Madoka swoops into his peripheral vision, pursing her lips and asking, "Do you still have that blue tie?"  
  
His first thought is: _Fuck, I forgot a meeting,_ followed by, _Is this one wrinkled_? He shifts his lunch under his elbow, freeing his hand so he can adjust the red tie he's wearing. It feels smooth and silky under his fingers, and he can't figure out what's wrong with it.  
  
"Yes," he answers, somewhat belatedly, still frowning at his tie.  
  
"Go home and get it," Madoka says. "It matches your eyes. You have dinner reservations at 18:00 at Rigoletto."  
  
"What?" he says. Rigoletto is an Italian place that he's only been in twice, and that was just to visit the bar. It's all fancy hanging lights and seductive shadows, with a menu that serves things like tapas, whatever that is. "Chief, that isn't really--"  
  
"18:00, Kageyama."  
  
She's ignoring him. He wants to tell her off, but she's his boss, and he needs this job to pay his bills so he can do whatever really sad version of living he's doing right now. He balls up his hands into fists and grits his teeth, trying to think of a polite way to tell her no that won't make her want to fire him.  
  
"Stop scowling," Madoka says. "It's not a good look on you. Go home and get that tie."  
  
"Yes, chief," he says, and hates himself for the coward he's become.  
  
As he's walking out, she pats his arm and says, "It's just one date, Kageyama. If you two don't hit it off, I won't hold it against you. And if you do, well." She smiles, spreads her hands, and raises her eyebrows. Kageyama doesn't believe her for a second.  
  
"I understand," he says, even though he doesn't understand at all. He thinks about what bullshit this is the whole train ride home, that he can't just tell his boss he likes dick and have it be okay and maybe get a date with her son, instead. It's shitty but it's life and he has to deal with it.  
  
The blue tie is hanging in the back of his small closet. He looks in the mirror once he's put it on and grudgingly admits that yeah, it does make his eyes look bluer. Intimidatingly blue eyes isn't usually the theme he's going for, because he's intense as it is, and enough small children have run away crying from him in subway trains that he knows he doesn't really need to look more intense. But Madoka told him to, so he does, and he even grabs a comb off his bathroom counter and sticks it in his pocket so he can fix his hair before 18:00.  
  


* * *

  
  
Yachi Hitoka is a different person when her mother isn't around.  
  
Even though Kageyama can see she's nervous from the moment he locks eyes with her outside the restaurant, there's a steeliness to her spine that wasn't there before, a squareness to her shoulders despite the red in her cheeks.  
  
_Good for her_ , he thinks, and it's not bitter, it's not jealous, it's not.  
  
They're seated in a romantic corner by a glittering chandelier. The napkins are cloth, folded into triangles, too many forks set on either side of the place mat. The waiter takes their drink orders, and then they're left just staring awkwardly at each other in this perfect ambiance that neither one of them wants.  
  
"So," he says.  
  
"So," she says back.  
  
He wants to drum his fingers on the table, but that would be rude. He adjusts his tie and clears his throat and tries to think of something to say.  
  
"I have a girlfriend," Hitoka blurts.  
  
Kageyama stares at her, open-mouthed with shock. Her cheeks are redder now, and she's fidgeting, but she's staring right at him, meeting his gaze head-on. He realizes that she's braver than he's ever been in his life, and suddenly he wants to tell her, wants to have one soul in this world know, even if it's just his boss's daughter. _I'm gay too,_ he wants to say. _I'm lost too. Help me._  
  
"M-me too," is what he says, because he's a hopeless fuckup.  
  
Hitoka's forehead wrinkles. "Why would you lie to my mother about having a girlfriend?"  
  
"What?" he says. He replays the conversation in his head. _'I have a girlfriend.' 'Me too.'_ "Oh, shit, no. I mean, I'm gay too."  
  
"Oh," she says.  
  
"Oh," he echoes, leaning back in his chair, feeling like every bit of energy has just been sucked out of him by that confession. It's the first time he's ever said it out loud, he realizes, and starts to laugh.  
  
"Ummm, are you okay?" Hitoka asks.  
  
"I don't know," he says honestly. "I've never told anyone before."  
  
Hitoka squeaks. "I'm so sorry! I mean, uh, I'm glad I could--help? No, that's not right either, um!" She flails her hands around, paling like maybe she's going to faint.  
  
Okay, so she's not _completely_ different without her mother around.  
  
"Calm down, it's fine. It felt, uh. Good." It's the truth, actually.  
  
"That's great," she says, seeming to relax for a split-second, before she panics again, "Oh my goodness, my mother doesn't know! Please don't tell her! Please!"  
  
"I won't."  
  
Hitoka slumps her shoulders and sighs, clutching her hand over her heart, like it had been about to pound out of her chest. "Oh, thank goodness. I won't tell her about you either, of course."  
  
"Thanks," he says awkwardly, and they fall back into silence.  
  
Their waters arrive and collect condensation on the coasters. Kageyama orders the A set with coffee and Hitoka orders the C set with a strawberry dessert. They still don't talk.  
  
"So," he says once the silence becomes excruciating.  
  
"So," she says, still blushing at the table.  
  
"We could still have dinner."  
  
She lights up. "Yeah!"  
  


* * *

  
  
That's how he finds out Hitoka does web design, and that she's known her girlfriend since high school but they recently reconnected when Hitoka started doing web design for an LGBTQ organization in the area. She also invites Kageyama to their next meetup, to which he says, "Maybe," even though he knows he has nothing better to do and he really needs to get out more often. They exchange email addresses and promise to keep in touch.  
  
He goes to work on Monday with a smile on his face and forgets to tell Madoka he doesn't think he'll go out with Hitoka again. (Not romantically, anyway.)  
  
At some point during the week, sometime between a mail from Hitoka and eating his cold bento alone in the break room, he realizes he's planning to go to the meetup on Saturday.  
  
The thought is less terrifying than he expected.  
  


* * *

  
  
Kageyama spends the ten minutes between the station and the bar convincing himself why this is a terrible, terrible idea. He's not the kind of guy who makes friends. Frienemies, yes. Friends, no.  
  
The bar is on the third floor, and he waffles in the elevator, holding his finger over the button but not actually pushing it. He's still standing there when it just starts moving on its own, and suddenly the doors are swooshing open to the third floor and Hitoka is standing there in a sundress.  
  
"Kageyama-kun!" she says, blinking rapidly. Her surprise easily melts into excitement, and she claps her hands and does a little jump. "I didn't think you'd actually come! I mean, not that I doubted you, you just didn't seem very--um. A-anyway, I was going to meet Kiyoko-chan outside, but come on, I'll introduce you to everyone."  
  
And that's how he finds himself being literally dragged by his arm to a low table in a back room. There's a huge group sitting on pillows in a circle, already laughing into their drinks and looking like there's absolutely no room for an awkward outsider. His heart's pounding so hard that he's thinking wildly of gnawing his own arm off to escape.  
  
Then he locks eyes with a redhead sitting on the opposite side of the room, next to one of the only open seats, and his heart beats even faster and harder.  
  
"E-everyone," Hitoka tries to say over the noise, but her voice is small and wobbly and nobody hears. "Guys, if you could please, I have someone new…"  
  
The guy with the red hair jabs the person he's sitting next to (rowdy, sharp teeth, no hair) and says, "Hey, shut up, Hitoka-chan is talking!"  
  
"Th-thanks," she says with a smile, and then she seems to find herself again, the way she had in the restaurant, brightening and speaking without a trace of a stutter. "Everyone, this is the person I was telling you about. His name is Kageyama Tobio."  
  
"Nice to meet you!" Kageyama says, way too loudly, and he cringes at how he can't even introduce himself without fucking up.  
  
He's not expecting the roar of welcome, or the strangers patting him on the shoulder and introducing themselves back at him. He's also not expecting Hitoka's tiny hand to push him into the open spot next to the redhead with a quickly whispered, "I'll be right back. I still have to meet Kiyoko-chan, but Shouyou will take care of you," but, well, it happens. And then he's just sitting there, his hands curled up into fists on his knees, petrified.  
  
The redhead shifts, angling himself toward Kageyama, and says, "I'm Hinata Shouyou!" and Kageyama thinks, frantically, _Oh no, I'm fucked_. Hinata has the most adorable voice Kageyama has ever heard in his life, and his face is round and flushed and smiling and so cute that Kageyama has the startling urge to squish it.  
  
"Nice to meet you," he says again, and he doesn't know where to look or what else to say. He thinks he's probably blushing and he hopes the abnormal heat is a plausible excuse.  
  
Hinata slides him a bottle of beer from somewhere and says, "So, how do you know Hitoka-chan?"  
  
"Oh, uh. I work with her mom." Kageyama is grateful for something to do with his hands. He wraps both of them around the bottle, folds his fingers together and stares at the deep amber liquid slowly fizzing inside. "She set us up on a date."  
  
"Uhhh. Awkward."  
  
"Yeah." He wants to add to that, to say that it's actually been nice finding a friend in Hitoka, that he doesn't regret it, but the words feel weird in his mouth. So he drinks his beer and stares at the table and feels stupid about his horrible social skills.  
  
"I can see how you'd be a good match, if she wasn't so in love with Kiyoko-chan," Hinata continues, as though it doesn't bother him at all that Kageyama can hardly string three words together without his hands shaking. Kageyama looks up kind of hopefully, like maybe he can keep listening to this cute, bubbly voice all night without completely embarrassing himself. "She's small and cute, and you're all tall and cranky-looking, but I bet you've got a soft side."  
  
"That's just my face," he says, thinking, _You're small and cute._ Sort of. He's short, but his biceps look like he works out every day, and upon closer inspection, which is totally not creepy or perverted at all, he notices that his thighs are kind of massive. And just then, it hits him that Hinata's that player for the national men's team, the short one who can jump amazingly high and control the ball wherever he is in the air. "Oh. You're Hinata Shouyou."  
  
"Um, yeah," Hinata says, laughing. His nose crinkles when he laughs and the effect is devastatingly adorable. "And you're Kageyama Tobio."  
  
"I mean, you play for the national league. I saw your game." Well, part of it, before he got too bitter and had to turn it off.  
  
"You like volleyball?"  
  
"Kinda," he says. Some of Hinata's light dims, and he thinks that was the wrong thing to say. But he doesn't know how to answer that honestly. He used to live and breathe volleyball, and he still loves it more than anything, to the point where watching it and not being able to play it makes his throat close up and his eyes itch. He's allergic to not playing volleyball.  
  
But then Hinata's recovering, a smile curling his mouth, and his eyes sweep over Kageyama from head to toe. He looks up at him through his eyelashes and says, "You look like you're in shape. You could play, probably," and Kageyama chokes on his drink.  
  
Is this flirting? Or is it just a professional athlete sizing up Kageyama's muscles? He's not gonna lie, he's still in fucking excellent shape, lifts weights and does low-impact cardiovascular exercises and stretches his knee every night like the physical therapist showed him. But someone like Hinata couldn't possibly be interested in someone like Kageyama, could he?  
  
He tells himself that just because Hinata is at some queer meetup thing, doesn't mean he's interested in men--and even if he's interested in men, that doesn't mean he's interested in Kageyama. As confident as he is in his physical shape, he knows he's a disaster mentally, and besides, someone as bright and adorable as Hinata probably already has someone.  
  
So he says, "Probably," and then scowls as he realizes how arrogant that sounded, and this isn't how he wanted things to go at all. He knows he's making that scary face right now, the one that makes kids cry and dogs bark, but he just can't help it, that's just how his face is--  
  
Hinata starts laughing.  
  
"Hey," he snaps, turning red, his shoulders migrating up towards his ears. It's not funny. He probably could play. It's been a while, but his fingers still remember how to set a ball. It's all muscle memory.  
  
"You're hilarious," Hinata informs him once he's collected himself, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. His smile is bright and engaging as he pats Kageyama on the shoulder and says, "Let me buy you another drink. I feel like you get funnier the drunker you get. What do you want?  
  
"Um. Kirin Bitters," he says, kind of confused, still feeling like he should be offended but instead feeling something hot rush down his spine as Hinata's warm hand touches his shoulder.  
  
"Gotcha," he says, then pulls away, raising a hand to signal the waitress. "Excuse me! Could we get another?"  
  
Kageyama hunches down and tries to become one with the table. He doesn't know why he suddenly thinks drinking Kirin Bitters is embarrassing. When he finally looks away from Hinata, he sees Hitoka came back at some point, tucked underneath the arm of a tall woman with silky black hair and a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth. They're both watching him, wearing identical smiles as though they've accomplished something.  
  
He ignores them and turns his body towards Hinata, their knees bumping slightly, which is probably just because they've crammed too many people into a small restaurant and not because of anything else. He lets Hinata buy him two more Kirin Bitters and doesn't think much of it. Hinata just has money, probably, and he seems like the generous type.  
  
Hinata also gives him his e-mail address, and Kageyama's face is red from the alcohol as he types it in and gives Hinata his in exchange. He's drunk, but not so drunk he can't find his way back to the station, but Hinata walks with him the whole way anyway. Kageyama feels light and airy and actually smiles as he taps his IC card and walks in to catch the last train home.  
  
He sobers up a little by the time he gets home, but not a lot, just enough that he doesn't miss the door with his key when he unlocks it. He peels himself out of his smoky-smelling shirt and collapses face-down in his bed, tasting lemon lime in his mouth. His smile is pressed into his pillow even though he doesn't know what he's smiling for.  
  
He falls asleep with his shoes on. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [longleggedgit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit). <333 Thank you so much!

Kageyama checks his phone as soon as he wakes up, headachey and a little nauseated, even though he's not really expecting anything yet. Well, maybe he is. His breath snags in his throat when he sees a notification for one new mail.

He almost doesn't check it, because all he can think about is how embarrassing he was and how there's no way it's actually Hinata who messaged him. And he's planning on not checking it, actually, except that his thumb slips and then the program is starting up and it says _hey what's up :)_ next to Hinata's name.

Because he's a crazy person who questions every single good thing that happens in his life, he double-checks the number, just in case he accidentally switched it with Hitoka's or--well, he doesn't have any other friends, really, so. Just Hitoka's.

But no, yeah, it's still Hinata's number, which means Hinata really did send him a smiley face, which means, what? He's not so out of date that he doesn't know the implications of a possibly-queer adult man sending another totally-queer adult man a smiley face, but it's just--maybe Hinata is really, really friendly. That's all.

"Okay," he says to himself, sitting up so that his sheet pools around his hips. "Okay." He can do this. Taking a deep breath, he holds his thumbs over the touch screen, and then--and _then_ he just fucking wimps out and takes a screenshot so he has easy access to over-analyze Hinata's smiley later.

Rome wasn't built in a day, or however the saying goes. He failed English like three times and could never get the hang of colloquialisms. Baby steps, his therapist would say.

"Okay," he says again, because that's what he says to soothe his anxiety crocodile when it's getting ready to pin him to the bed by his neck and not let him get up for the rest of the day. He can feel it kind of circling around, ready to flip out and curl around him so tight he can't move. Plans help, usually. He needs a plan.

So of course he Googles him, because that seems like the easiest way to figure out what to text back.

_hinata shouyou_ pulls up his Wikipedia page, followed by his Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, followed by about a million YouTube clips of his games.

It probably says something about him that Kageyama goes for the YouTube clips instead of the Instagram feed, which appears to be nothing more than a softcore porn folder of Hinata showing off his (admittedly very impressive) abs. Volleyball has been and always will be his first love, and besides, he still gets a glimpse up Hinata's shirt sometimes when he jumps for spikes, with the added bonus of no filter.

Hinata is so good it makes Kageyama's chest ache with nostalgia. He misses playing volleyball so much. Sometimes, when he's feeling particularly masochistic, he lets himself imagine that he was good enough to go pro, that he could have stood on a worldwide stage and been a part of a team like Hinata's.

Instead, he's at home with an achy knee, drawing diagrams and taking notes out of habit, because he's never quite been able to turn off the analytical side of his brain. When he looks down, he sees he's jotted down some bullshit about how some of the team's plays could be a little tighter, a little stronger. And he doubts he's the first person to notice it, but--well, maybe he's still a little arrogant, maybe he still remembers what it's like to be called a prodigy, because he keeps writing down what he notices just in case it can be helpful.

The sun dips down below his blinds after what feels like only an hour. His stomach rumbles, and he realizes he's been sitting in the dark for god knows how long, just curled over his laptop screen going through the national men's volleyball team's YouTube channel like an obsessed freak. He picks up the phone to check the time and sees Hinata's message again. He rereads it about ten times and smiles softly to himself, blushing.

Then his stomach growls again, and he decides he's not sure what the fuck to text Hinata yet besides, _your abs are really nice_ , which is entirely too creepy and forward and not something he would ever text anyone, ever. Or else he could say, _that one really tall middle blocker follows the ball too much_ , which isn't something he's ready to say without some recommendations for how to fix it.

So instead he composes a new message to Hitoka.

_when's the next meetup?_

* * *

"So, I hear you saw Hitoka-chan this weekend?" Madoka says Monday morning, smirking. She approaches him in a floral breeze, flanked by Reiji--her assistant slash secretary, for lack of a better word--carrying stacks of portfolios. He blinks curiously at Kageyama over the top.

Kageyama is a little alarmed by how quickly he turns red (and how quickly he had the urge to actually punch his boss). "What?" he says, because it's not a lie or a denial, but mostly because, _What!?_ _How could she possibly know_?

"Hitoka-chan posted a picture on Facebook with you in it," she says.

Fuck. This is why he doesn't have his own Facebook account. He'll have to talk to Hitoka about not posting anything with his face in it, since her mom is obsessed with the idea of them marrying each other. "Oh, uh. It was sort of a group thing. I don't think she likes me like that."

Because he has the absolute worst luck in the world, his phone chooses that moment to vibrate on his desk. They both look down at it and see a message from Hitoka displayed on the screen. _next saturday!! ★ will you be there?_

"Riiight," Madoka says, winking. She pats his shoulder.

"Senpai," Reiji says, starting to wobble underneath all the portfolios. "The meeting?"

"Of course," Madoka says. She gives him another pat and smiles as she walks past him toward the meeting room.

Kageyama waits until they close the glass doors behind them to pull out his phone and shoot off a quick reply to Hitoka.

_yes._

He hesitates, agonizes, then decides fuck it, if there's anyone he can talk to about this, it's probably Hitoka. She seems to understand the way he conjures a million doomsday worst-case scenarios in his head, and there's probably nobody else in the world who's going to understand him like that. So he sends:

_will hinata_?

He's not expecting the persistent buzz of an incoming call. He fumbles the phone a little in his haste to pick it up before he disturbs anyone, and he ducks down in his chair as he whispers, bewildered, "Hello?"

"I'm so happy!" Hitoka says in place of a greeting. "I was telling Sho-chan all about you last week, and when I heard you were ignoring him, I thought maybe I messed up, but I knew it! I knew you'd like each other!"

"Um," Kageyama says. He pokes his head over the top of his cubicle and scans the area for anyone who might be listening. No one is, so he slides off his chair and crawls completely under his desk, in his dress pants and his suit jacket and everything, and clutches the phone closer. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh my goodness, am I wrong?" Hitoka half-wails. Kageyama recognizes the pitch of uncertainty and self-loathing in her voice. "I'm so sorry, I just thought--when we met, I had a feeling you might get along--and then you seemed to hit it off _so well_ this weekend--but I guess that explains why you've been avoiding him, if you're not interested--"

"I'm not avoiding him," he says, because it makes his chest feel funny and tight when he thinks about verbally acknowledging that he is in fact very interested. "I'll go if he's there on Saturday."

"But--"

"Hitoka," he interrupts. "I'm not good at this, you know?" It's hard to admit. There's a lump in his throat, but he swallows past it, because she understands, and he doesn't have to be embarrassed. "I'll be there Saturday."

"Okay," she says, but she sounds like it's _not_ okay. She's hesitant, like she has more questions and is barely keeping them inside. "Ummm."

"Yeah?" He shifts and smacks his head on the bottom of his desk and swears quietly but creatively.

"Nothing. I'll see you soon, I guess?"

"See you soon," he confirms, rubbing the back of his head, and ends the call.

On his home screen, he still has the little red 1 next to his message from Hinata. He keeps reading it and reading it and then marking it unread as though that makes it easier to ignore. As though if Hinata sees his phone he'll just think, _Oh, okay, he hasn't checked his messages_ , and no one will know he's so stupid he can't even say hi back to a cute boy without being there in person or having warm alcohol slide down his throat.

* * *

In between Monday and Saturday, Hinata sends two more messages, spaced two days apart. ( _Good morning!! how are you today?_ and _hey,_ respectively.) Kageyama doesn't send a reply to either, but not for any lack of trying.

Kageyama composes probably over a hundred replies. Some he deletes, some he saves as drafts. Once he actually hits send before frantically turning off his phone before the envelope can finish dancing across the screen and his phone can make the little "woosh" sound.

It's not that he thinks Hinata won't reply back, or that they won't hit it off, or any normal kind of worry. It's just easier not to reply, the same way he's sometimes considered faking his death would be easier than explaining to his relatives that he's never going to get married and have children. Doing nothing is always easier than doing something, even if it's something he wants, even if the thing he has to do isn't exactly _hard_.

And it's easier, explaining to himself why he didn't get the thing he wanted, when he has a built-in excuse of not even trying.

It's conflicting, because he wants to try. But he also wants the safety of an excuse. So Kageyama keeps deleting, saving drafts, and marking Hinata's messages as unread, and he keeps planning out what he'll say when he sees him.

Something apologetic, maybe, to show his vulnerable side, like, _Hi, I'm sorry I didn't reply, I was too nervous I was going to mess up_ . Except he knows he won't say that. He would rather take notes on every administrative meeting at the design firm for the rest of his life than expose any of his vulnerabilities. So maybe something more like, _Sorry for being quiet. I'm not good over the phone._

And, if he's lucky, _I'll do better next time_.

Assuming he doesn't fuck this up, and there is a next time.

* * *

"Hey," Kageyama says on Saturday as he plops into the seat next to Hinata's with a single-mindedness he hasn't felt since high school. He waves absently to the people who remember him and holler their semi-drunken hellos. "I'm, uh. I'm not good. I mean. Phone."

Fuck, that's not what he meant to say. That's not the right way to start this. Shit goddammit fuck.

"Uh, hey," Hinata says, looking surprised that Kageyama is sitting next to him, let alone speaking to him. A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows, and he rolls his beer slowly between his hands. His shoulders are stiff like he's tensing to run. "You didn't mail back," he says instead of acknowledging Kageyama's trainwreck of a hello.

"I was watching all your games on YouTube," he says. He puts his briefcase on the table and flicks the latches open with a mounting sense of something between excitement and dread. Nerves, he guesses. Inside, he paws past mockups and designs for Madoka until he finds the neatly paperclipped pile of notes and diagrams on Hinata's team. "Here," he says, pushing them toward Hinata, swallowing down his hopefulness and trying to appear like a normal human being.

"That's kind of weird, but okay," Hinata says, dubiously pulling them closer with his fingertips. "What is all this?"

"The best I can do at small talk," he says, ignoring the way the simple admission makes his cheeks heat. "I was thinking your team could improve your blocking if you--" he trails off when Hinata starts laughing. He fumbles where he was pointing to his diagram; his finger creases the page. "What?" he snaps, suddenly defensive.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just--you ignored me for a week, and you don't even play, and now you're giving me advice?" Hinata asks, wiping laugh-tears from his eyes. "That's like, either seriously arrogant or seriously cute, and I can't decide which."

Okay, yes, Kageyama is arrogant, but he's also just--

"I told you, I was just trying to make small talk," he says. The tips of his ears turn red.

"Oh my god," Hinata says. He stares at the side of Kageyama's face until a smile starts tugging at his mouth. "All right, I'm gonna go with cute for now. Keep going."

Personally, Kageyama would be pissed off if he were in Hinata's shoes, so it's a huge relief when Hinata scoots kind of sideways in his chair until their legs bump under the table, which makes Kageyama think maybe Hinata is learning toward amused. Especially when Hinata props his chin in his hand and finally gives into the grin that's been building and just full-out fucking beams at him.

"Um. Right." He clears his throat and straightens his papers. Looks at a ring of condensation left from a beer bottle on the table. Scoots a coaster over it just because.  "So. Your team defense," he says.

Halfway through his notes and drawings and specific references to Hinata's past games, he realizes this is really, really weird, and he probably just fucked up again. But he doesn't stop, because the more he talks, the straighter Hinata sits, the more alert he looks, until finally he touches the inside of Kageyama's wrist with his callous-rough fingers and says, "Holy shit, were you working on this all week?"

He nods, not trusting himself to speak anymore just yet.

"I mean," Hinata continues, oblivious to Kageyama's intense inner turmoil (and extreme mortification), "I would have preferred you just mailed me back, but like, this is actually _really_ helpful." He pauses to bring the paper closer to his face, squinting. "Are you sure you don't play?"

The old pain flares up, literally and figuratively. He rubs his knee with the heel of his palm, the one Hinata's not almost-touching, but otherwise ignores it. "I don't play," he confirms.

Hinata's fingers--the ones not holding the paper like a centimeter from his face--slip higher, firmer up his wrist. His eyes are bright and innocent. "Would you want to like, come observe a practice sometime?" he asks, like he's totally not casually feeling Kageyama's arm up while asking to see him outside of the bar.

Kageyama swallows and nods again. Something flips in his stomach, like a single string being plucked, a bow twanging before firing an entire quiver of flame-tipped arrows.

Hinata laughs. "Dude, use your words. Do you have like, any social skills whatsoever?"

"Hey," he barks, the awkwardness falling away as his figurative hackles rise, but Hinata just keeps laughing and, more importantly, keeps his hand on Kageyama's. His fingers are brushing the back of his knuckles, so close to holding hands that Kageyama's palms start to sweat. This is happening, maybe. It's possible he's being flirted with by a professional volleyball player right now.

"It's okay, it just explains why you didn't write back." Hinata smiles, soft but earnest. He finally sets down Kageyama's obsessive notes and flicks Kageyama's forehead with his middle finger. "E-mail me this time, okay?"

"I have social skills," he says instead of agreeing. Their shoulders are touching. Hinata's hand is still on his wrist. He could flip his hand over and then they'd be holding hands. He could do it. It would probably be okay.

But no, just because Hinata isn't afraid to touch him, just because he wants Kageyama to come to one of his practices, doesn't mean he wants to hold hands with him. So he doesn't.

"Prove it," Hinata is saying against his ear, and Kageyama is blushing, and something hot trickles down his spine.

"I have to use the bathroom," he announces, just before he uproots Hinata from his side and literally runs out. He thinks Hinata squawks behind him when he hits the floor, which is kind of adorable, but he pretends not to hear it.

It's not until he's sticking his head under the faucet and letting the cold water splash over his ears that he realizes yeah, that was kind of the opposite of social skills.

He shakes off as much water as he can, then wrings it out over the sink and slaps his own face so hard he leaves a red handprint on each cheek. _Baby steps, Kageyama_ , reminds a voice in his head. _First, go back out. Then sit down. Then worry about what to do next_. The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his therapist's.

When he finally walks back to the room, Hinata has kept the space next to him clear, and waves him over. Kageyama sits, straight and stiff-backed, and pretends like water droplets aren't seeping uncomfortably into the collar of his shirt.

"So, are we going to acknowledge that thing you just did?" Hinata asks, sliding him a Kirin Bitters.

"Absolutely not," he says. He's grateful for the drink, because it gives him something to do, and he doesn't have to talk if he's drinking.

"It was kind of cute, though," Hinata says.

"I thought we weren't talking about it," Kageyama says back, bumping his shoulder.

"I haven't decided officially. Is your hair wet?"

Kageyama blushes and tilts his glass back so far he's looking at the ceiling. Hinata giggles.

When Hinata presses his knee into his thigh, he presses back.

* * *

His phone vibrates while he's walking home from the station, significantly less drunk than last time. He pulls it out and squints at it. It's Hinata again.

_I asked coach and he said u could come!! I told him ur a consultant tho ;)_

Kageyama stares, dumbstruck, at the smiley winky face until his phone buzzes again three times:

A date, a time, and a location.

He screenshots the winky smiley face because he's a loser, then gathers his courage and simply says, _OK, I'll ask for the day off_ , and then gets so nervous he turns his phone off for the rest of the night because he's 100% sure he just fucked that up.

But at least he responded this time, as requested.

* * *

He didn't fuck up, it turns out, because Hinata's reply, when Kageyama is finally brave enough to turn his phone back on, is a series of exclamation points and the words _can't wait_. Kageyama smiles at it for like five straight minutes, warm under his blankets with the sun on the side of his face, just breathing in the smell of clean sheets and sunshine before he screenshots it and then forces himself to get up and get ready for work.

The only problem is, Hinata's practice is usually when Kageyama has work, which means he'll have to ask for a morning off. He hasn't taken a day of vacation or sick leave in like, two years, so he has plenty of time accrued. Madoka likes him enough to set him up with her only daughter, so he doesn't really think she'll begrudge him one day off, short notice or not.

No, the issue is that she's nosy.

"Chief, do you have a moment?" he asks, jumping to his feet as Madoka breezes by in the morning, trailed by Reiji, who is carrying several tubes of rolled up, oversized papers this time.

Madoka pauses; Reiji skids to a stop behind her. "Kageyama?" she says. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes. Um, may we speak in private, please?" he asks, holding his hands in fists stiffly along his the seams of his pressed trousers.

Her eyes light up, and that's when he thinks _no no no no NO_ as the sickening realization dawns that she thinks he's asking about Hitoka. He looks like he's getting ready to ask to date her, or worse, marry her.

"Certainly. Reiji-kun, wait a moment; I'll be right back." She smiles at Kageyama and tilts her head to indicate her office. "Shall we?"

Kageyama shuts the door behind them as Madoka sits behind her desk, crosses her legs, and folds her hands together atop her desk. Her smile is bright and sharp, and she's so beautiful it's intimidating.

"Kageyama?" she prompts as he continues to stand there like a terrified idiot. "What is it you needed to talk about?"

"Um. I have a date request--" his heart slams into his ribs; his face burns scarlet and he rushes to correct himself, "I MEAN DAY REQUEST-- _DAY OFF REQUEST_."

He's shouting by the end. Reiji's face appears in the glass window in Madoka's door, frowning, but Madoka is grinning. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Hitoka-chan, would it?"

"NO!" Oh god help him, he's still yelling. He cringes and forces himself to breathe deeply. "Sorry, chief. I mean, no. I'd rather not state the reason, if that's okay with you."

Madoka blinks in surprise. "Well, you're always on top of your deadlines and I don't think you've taken a day off the entire time you've worked here, so I won't say no, but--" she trails off.

"But what?"

"No, nothing." Her smile looks forced for a moment, but this is a woman who regularly faces rooms of assholes who talk over with her with a smile, pretending to enjoy their company. She swivels in her chair, pulls up the calendar on her computer, and starts clicking around. "What day did you want off?"

"This Saturday." Which is such a date day, the day before a Sunday, like he's planning on bringing someone home with him and then spending all Sunday together, _oh god_ , _she's gonna hate him_.

She makes a few keystrokes on her computer. "Okay, got it," she says pleasantly. "Although, Kageyama, we'd appreciate more notice in the future."

"Yes, chief," he says, executing a quick bow. "I apologize for the inconvenience. It was short notice and I would completely understand if you--"

"It's fine, you don't have to explain yourself." She waves away all his excuses, and his shoulders relax marginally. "You're free to go now. Send Reiji-kun in after you, would you?"

Like Reiji's not already glaring daggers at him through the door. Kageyama glances at him over his shoulder and waves. Reiji doesn't wave back.

"Yes, chief," he repeats. He lingers a moment longer, contemplating another bow--is it too formal, or is it appropriate because she's giving him time off?--before Reiji opens the door himself.

"Senpai?" he says, but his eyes are trained on Kageyama, and Kageyama starts to wonder what exactly is going on between them.

"Just updating the schedule," she says. She looks at Kageyama again, pointedly, and he takes the hint and scoots out of the room. The door shuts behind him, and he stands there for a minute, shaking with the aftershocks of a Not Fun confrontation with his boss before he remembers--

He got the day off.

He's going to see Hinata's practice.

Kageyama is so excited that he almost drops his phone twice getting it out of his pocket, and his thumbs feel shaky when he taps out his message.

_Got the day off. I'll be there._

The message silently sends. Before he can put his phone away and freak out about it, it buzzes in his hands and Hinata's message appears below his in gray:

_WOOHOO!!!!!!! see u sat! don't wear a suit this time ok??_

He scoffs--or at least tries to, but he can't stop smiling at the message, even after he sits back down at his desk. Even he knows better than to wear a suit to a volleyball practice. He has clothes he wears to physical therapy, although he'll have to find some shorts that cover the scars on his knee. Jogging pants, maybe. After all, it's not like he's going to be actually playing.

_OK_ , he sends, and then drops his phone in his desk drawer so he can focus on his work. Or try to focus on his work, anyway. He spends very little of his day reviewing poster mockups and a shameful amount mentally cataloging his wardrobe for athletic pants that still fit.

And that's when he remembers Hinata told his coach Kageyama is a consultant, and he starts to panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, please come talk to me on [tumblr](http://reeology.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/reeology) if you're into that kinda thing. I mostly blog about sports anime, cats, and FFXIV.


End file.
